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Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 November 2018

You know the saying, “things could not get any worse”. That one. It’s meant to encourage us when things are really bad. Unbelievably awful. I’ve been saying it to myself a lot these past few years. A lot. So many times that it almost seems meaningless, because it’s just not true…

And Worse, for his part, keeps showing me that he is not finished showing off. Every day, Worse is looming, in my face flaunting his best, the greatest hits, of his worst. And the hits keep coming. At a furious pace. Worse is relentless. He’s especially good at reminding me of what I’ve lost…friends, family, security, freedom. He loves making me beg for an end to his madness. He loves beating me down. For every uttered, “it can’t get any worse,” he’s there smugly declaring, “Oh, but it can. It can always get worse.” Worse is a bottomless pit of impossibilities just waiting to spew his venom. To poison us into believing it’s hopeless to imagine anything better than the misery he’s so good at inflicting.

But Worse doesn’t know me. I have seen Worse. And I am still here. The shimmering break of day still moves me…every day. The cool settling of dusk soothes me. I swoon to the caress of the breeze on my cheek, thrill to the trill of birdsong. Oh I know I’m waxing poetic a bit. Hey, it’s what poets do. But like I said, Worse doesn’t know me.

Go ahead give me your worst, Worse, I’ll raise you with hope. Ante up…show how vile you can be. Tell me your lies. They’re no match for the truth. I wear truth like armor. And another thing…I am a raging bundle of love. Love never fails. You can’t stop the beautiful sun from rising, or quiet the birds from singing. You can’t stop the seasons from seasoning. And my friends, the better angels, they’re not afraid of you either. Yes things may seem to be going your way Worse. But not today. Today Hope is rising. She’s ready for a fight. And when she wins, you’re gonna feel it.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 November 2018

when words are not enough it’s best not to make up stuff
nipping our hearts, numbing frost, fear, our freedom lost
something was horribly wrong
all have gone…
mustn’t be late, and then we wait, it’s the waiting I hate
the haunt begins…appease them with sweets, don’t let them in
it is not safe here
clouds, drizzle droplets
silenced by our better angels
when so much is at stake / become the truth
gilded needles clinging
remember the things that matter

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 14 October 2018

We are swept up in whirlwinds these days. Fractured relationships, fear of the bogeyman, politics, religion where emotions run red hot, firing on all cylinders all the time. Our tendency is to lock ourselves in our houses to ride out the storm. But as we learned this week from Mother Nature, we cannot hide. It is foolish to think we can ride out the storms, be they weather related or otherwise. If we do manage to make it through to the other side, the world we are left with in the light of day is not the one we hid from behind our shuttered doors.

I get it. It’s tempting to turn reality off; to stay in one’s happy place. But eventually we all have to wake up, grow up, open the door and take responsibility for the mess we’ve made. And if we haven’t made the mess, we still need to roll up our sleeves to clean up the mess if we hope to have a future.

I know I talk moments a lot. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a big proponent of savoring precious moments. I am grateful for the occasional interlude from the chaos…for the eye in the storm. But I also know it’s important to remember that the eyes are temporary. Sometimes the back half of a hurricane can be worse than the first. With it comes the surge…the aftermath.

I’ve been scarce this week. I managed to scratch out at least a monostitch a day, a tweet, a haiku, but I have to admit I’m clinging to the moments right now. I’ve worked my muse to exhaustion and I sense she needs a rest. So it is fitting that this week’s reverse is contained within two lovely moments. I’m paying attention. The words will come. It is autumn after all.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 14 October 2018

until next time we meet
the simplest of pleasures are gifts beyond measure
clusters of cumulus clouds bloom, raindrops to nimbus
let me love you
I’m a moron
he said, she said, stale-mates should try listening instead
enough, enough I say of this rain, rain go away
speaking of it…the weather…we’re a bit under it
tempest remnants scatter in heaps…we sow what we reap
Autumn dawning hush, jasmine flush gilds Gaia’s awning.

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


October 13-31 Poem #11

speaking of it…the weather…we’re a bit under it

~kat

True story….730 miles from landfall, Michael, now a tropical storm, continues to wreak havoc here in the Blue Ridge valley. We had a deluge of rain in a matter of hours, with catastrophic flooding sweeping through our neighborhoods, rivers and creeks rising. And as a special surprise, when I arrived home from work, the ceiling in our mud room had fallen in. Things could be worse. They could always be worse. I think about the joy I felt as I left the office…the air was cool and there was a wind blowing. I love the wind. We need to savor the good moments. Things can change in an instant.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

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There is an air of despair and hopelessness, as bitter old men ram through a questionable candidate for the highest court in our land, to reign over us for a lifetime. 

Our nation was riveted to ‘credible’ testimony laced with accounts of a lifetime of pain resulting from trauma and responded to with pent up privileged rage. It left us tearful and aghast, this spectacle that summed up the chasm between us. It left us with more questions than answers and a clear view into the soul of an elite powerful class in the final throws of power. It revealed to us that there is nothing the powerful will not do or say to keep their power, the rest of us be damned. 

There is a pattern to the assaults on equality, dignity, and fairness that has transpired over the past few years. Among those in power are the privileged, old white men and their fawning little women, and evangelical pro-lifers who are happy to sell their souls if it means edging them closer to a dystopian heaven on earth a la Gilead (see Handmaid’s Tale). Those who suffer abuse at the hands of this power base are disproportionately female, young, sick, poor, marginalized, ethnic, immigrant, or people of color. Heaven, it seems is only for the chosen and we are all painfully reminded daily who is chosen and who is not. We know them by their fruits as their tome reminds us. Rotten to the core, but ever righteous according to this twisted doctrine, their transgressions covered in the blood of the lamb (aka the meek). That referenced verse is ironic in a terrifying way. 

It’s not for me to say who’s telling the truth. The fact is, truth doesn’t really matter. What I do know is what cannot be unseen…the spectacle of this candidate for a position on the Supreme Court’s performance. It smacked of his being temperamentally unhinged, rage-full, vindictive, and blatantly partisan as revealed by his own words when he repeated wild conspiracy theories against democrats. If he is pushed through to that esteemed seat on the bench, will we ever be able to trust in the wisdom, justice and impartiality that our founders envisioned? I think not. Of all the tragedies that have resulted from this week of blight, this is the worst and most far reaching damage anyone can imagine. It is stunning to witness. Democracy unraveling.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

and the moon’s made of cheese
there, waiting in the dark…
to feed your narcissism
if you remember all who came before you
life has a way of surprising us.
thoughts, words mean nothing
when tossed into a cesspool
tick tock so very slowly
she weeps fallow fronds,
as smoke with no fire
truth hid, on holiday
morning will never bring peace
never too late for a do over
dreams never end
believing a thing,
wounds too deep to heal unaided,
it just was’t in the cards.

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

This video/soundbite…because I need it again and again…


If you followed me this week, you know I spent an unacceptable amount of time working. Mind you, I am not an executive, but I assist one who never stops. Because of this, when the rest of the staff head home to their families…to their LIVES…I remain behind putting the final touches on tomorrow’s presentations compiled last minute by others who hit send as they were walking out the door. My only solace is the overtime that will pad my paltry wages. But this doesn’t compensate me for the life I forfeit to a corporation who demands more and more while stripping resources to save overhead.

I hear you mumbling…quit, get another job, change careers. Oh, that I could. But the truth is, I am 5 short years from retirement, unless they push the age closer to grave. To the government it’s economics of course. The Social Security powers that be, namely congress who diverts our hard earned contributions into tax breaks that pad the pockets of their wealthy benefactors…but I digress. As I was saying, surely they are hoping most of us will die before we dare try to collect the money we’ve paid into the system for decades. And who am I kidding. After raising 4 children on a secretary’s wage, supplemented by forays into furniture and jewelry sales, waitressing and cashiering, I’ve not amassed a sizable enough retirement nest egg to sustain me. I’m not alone. There are millions of people like me. The best I can hope for when the time comes is downsizing in order to afford living on a reduced income and landing a mindless gig greeting shoppers at a big box store to pay, if republicans have their way, for the preexisting conditions that healthcare won’t cover. Forgive me for breathing. I’m getting too old for this shit. Is it any wonder I vote for the other side. I’m no snowflake!

Sorry for the downer. It’s raining and I am exhausted. I spend Saturdays sleeping and Sunday’s dreading Monday. And I wonder what did I do wrong to end up here. The answer of course is nothing. A lifetime of hard work, honesty and loyalty only pay off for a select few. And most of them don’t need to work. those of us at the bottom do the heavy lifting for them.

And yet, I find time each night to write. It has saved me many times. It doesn’t pay my mortgage or keep the lights on, but it feeds my soul. In the end that is what matters. And no one can take that away from me. Those beautiful, beautiful words are mine to do with as I please!

So, hang in there. (I say to myself as much as anyone who is listening). None of are getting out alive, but there are moments to be savored while we still breathe.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

soft murmuring
barrels of booze
the one thing I know
give it time
I hope you’re listening
fill the darkness with music
oh what tangled webs we weave
writing quells the madness
in fragrant wisps, our savagery
too short, two days, deadlines looming
rainfall is a beautiful sound
it came, then vanished into sawdust
apathy’s minions

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


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